"Loose Footing"

Fog spins a tower toward heaven,
Caps of white rage below,
It's hard to remember not everything's fiction,
Such reality should have been known long ago,

Cliffs call coarse tragedies,
Wind and loose rocks toy with fate,
A dreamer cannot dismiss these beauties,
The feral soul cannot help but sensate,

Do we write our own disasters,
Or was this ordered from above?
A curious mind into the ocean clamors,
The sea swallows all but the dove.